


La petite mort

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Masks, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Orlais, Orlesian Bards, Pre-Blight, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: The Winter Palace, Halamshiral. 9:27 Dragon.Marjolaine attempts to infiltrate the Winter Palace, but her plans are interrupted by a mysterious stranger.





	

Marjolaine dodged the first arrow, and the second, before she realised she was being led. _Diverted._ She crouched, wiping the blood off her dagger with one fluid movement as she waited for the next. It didn’t come.

She could only rely on the _direction_ from which the arrows had been fired, when what she needed was to _pinpoint_ its origin. But the Winter Palace was vast, its interior a labyrinth. And her attacker - though she now had doubts that they had truly intended to _attack_ her - knew it. Likely, knew it better than she did. 

Lelianahad been desperate to come with her - and who could blame her? What better place to play the Grand Game than the Winter Palace itself? Not to mention the fact that she  _worshipped_ Marjolaine, wanted to _be_ her. They were two sides of the same coin.

But that night, she did not have time to dwell on thoughts of her pretty little thing.

She crept behind one of the flowerbeds on the balcony, and if Marjolaine has believed in the Maker, she’d have thanked him - there, amongst the delicate little petals, was a carved stone ornament of some sort. Small enough to throw, and large enough to cause a noise that would alert her attacker without waking the whole of Halamshiral. She slipped it into her palm, glanced around.

A couple of balconies over, she saw a glint of crystal - a vase. She hooked her knees around the railings as she dangled beneath the balcony, judging the angle before she threw the stone, hitting the vase from beneath with a _clink._ And she waited.

 _Nothing._  

It was _possible_ that her attacker had not heard, or had grown tired of their pursuit. But it was not likely. She would have to depend on her intuition instead, and at this realisation, Marjolaine grinned. 

 _Nothing_ was more reliable than a bard’s intuition.

Of course, _they_ were undoubtedly a bard, too. But were they as skilled in the arts of subterfuge as she, or was this merely a pampered young noble, flirting with the darkness, trying to bring a little danger, a little _excitement_ into their life? Not that Marjolaine could blame them. Every noble was part of the Grand Game, whether they wished it or not, and it was _far_ less interesting to be a pawn. After a while, the shimmering masquerades and soirées began to lose their edge…unless one learned to orchestrate one’s own entertainment.

She glimpsed a mask through one of the windows as a light flickered. Red and white motley, a scarlet smile wide enough that is cut across the wearer’s face. To a Fereldan it might have appeared sinister, but Marjolaine had seen far more frightening faces – both masks _and_ what lay beneath.

The figure made no effort to hide, even as Marjolaine approached the balcony. Was this the one who tried so hard to get her attention, or simply a court jester admiring the moonlit gardens? Their posture and movements were unfamiliar. Whoever they were, they were a stranger to Marjolaine. _Not knowing_ gave her another rush of adrenaline as she hoisted herself up onto the balcony, making her presence known to the mysterious harlequin.

 _“Bonsoir, Madame.”_ From the tone of voice and the slight curve of the hips beneath the yellow and blue diamond patchwork, Marjolaine deduced that she was conversing with another woman. Her hair was cropped short, dyed a fashionable shade of red, and Marjolaine’s eyes were drawn from the large crystal of the cocktail ring to her small, delicate hands.

Definitely _not_ a court jester.

“And to you,” Marjolaine replied, taking care to accentuate her words in a more Fereldan manner. Her accent was imperfect, she knew, and she would not be able to fox a true Fereldan. But, right now, she didn’t need to.

“Are you not enjoying the party?” the harlequin asked. “The wine is to _die_ for, and I hear there are more than twenty varieties of little cakes.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” Marjolaine smiled sweetly, licking her lips – her own mask covered only the upper half of her face. “If _only_ my appetite could be satisfied by wine and cakes, I’m my sure life would be far simpler.” The harlequin exposed her pale throat when she laughed, practically a declaration of trust when in the presence of another bard. It was a light, airy laugh that reminded her of Leliana, if she were a little older, perhaps.

“I _knew_ I’d be sure to meet someone more interesting away from the ballroom!” she exclaimed, lighting another candle to examine the room they were in. Marjolaine glanced around, too. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the Royal Wing of the Winter Palace. Her heart beat faster with excitement, and she was sure the harlequin grinned beneath her mask as she spun around the room to continue her investigation.

“Perhaps I would have asked you to dance,” she ventured.

“Are we not already dancing, _Madame_?” the harlequin said slyly, gracefully seating herself on the grand four poster bed in the center of the room. Marjolaine leaned against one of the posts, one hand on her hip.

“Might I know the name of my lady?”

“ _Your_ lady?” She laughed again, and Marjolaine wondered how many men and women she’d charmed with that laugh. Then, she gestured to the grandeur of their surroundings. “Tonight, you may call me _Duchess_.”


End file.
